At the Grave of Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Here of a truth the world’s extremes are met: 
Amid the gray, the moss-grown tombs of those 
Who led long lives obscure till came the close 
When, their calm days being done, their suns were set— 
Here stands a grave, all monumentless yet, 
Wrapped like the others in a deep repose; 
But while yon wakeful ocean ebbs and flows 
It is a grave the world shall not forget, 
This grave on which meek violets grow and thyme, 
Summer’s fair heralds; and a stranger now 
Pauses to see a poet’s resting-place, 
But one of those who will in many a clime 
On each return of this sad day avow 
Fond love’s regret that ne’er they saw his face.